Outsider 7/11/2020
Standing still in a small grove,
Within a few leaping bounds of the forest edge
I am timid in my exploration.
I haven't braved the thicker underbrush
to move deeper within the forest.
A giant oak towers above me
branches grasping for the limited sky.
I too, am grasping.
Grasping to understand,
to read this forest's story.
Who is speaking in the canopy overhead?
The voices belong to birds,
neighbors who haven't yet introduced themselves,
other than through their foreign song.
Gnats buzz around my face with gossip
as the elder trees groan in the wind.
The sun hides behind passing clouds
causing me to move back onto the beaten path
to tread around the forest's edge.
I feel like an outsider
who may travel on the paths,
but whose destination has never been this land,
this stand of trees,
under this ash tree,
beside this thicket.
Until today.
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